


Beauty

by captain_tots



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_tots/pseuds/captain_tots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Beauty” is a word which weak men toss around without care. They do not understand what true beauty is; a woman who shines so brightly, she could light the darkness of hell.<br/>TaliaxBane, PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> For Angel.

  
_  
_ Beauty   


* * *

  
  


_“Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.”_   
  
**The Secret History  
**

* * *

City Hall is empty, all bureaucrats and liars purged long ago. Bane studies what was once the mayor's office, now dusty with neglect. A single window lets in a crack of light, but other than that, the room is dark. Mobs tore away most of the furniture, all but for a few bookshelves and a ruined chair. The floor is coated with scattered pages of legal documents.

The mob spared very little.

He's not sure why he's here now. Perhaps he should be doing something better in the last few hours of his life, but he cannot think of any place he would rather be.

Perhaps he is paying a homage.

The door opens behind him, creaking hinges giving it away. He turns to see Talia, standing as tall and serene as an angel among the rubble. She approaches him with a satisfied smile across her lips.

“Gotham burns tonight, my friend.”

Talia raises a hand to stroke the side of his face, a motion which always reminds him of the humanity he's buried somewhere underneath the mask.

“And we will watch this city fall, from the very building which housed the corrupt thieves who ruled over this nest of sin.”

She whispers into his ear, lips touching against his flesh.

“And it's all because of you.”

Without warning, Talia puts all of her weight against his chest. He takes a step backwards, having not anticipated the motion.

“How could I ever thank you?”

Talia's hands linger down, from his chest to the waist of his pants. She smiles at him, and bites down on her lower lip.

“I know, you've always loved me.”

It takes a moment for him to understand her intentions.

He has always loved her, from a distance. To reach out, to touch her, to feel her softness against his own battle worn skin... it's something he can't even begin to imagine.

For years, he's worshiped at the feet of his own personal goddess, never expecting to truly gain her favor.

His purpose, his salvation: the most beautiful creature to ever exist.

For, “beauty” is a word which weak men toss around without care.

They do not understand what true beauty is; a woman who shines so brightly, she could light the darkness of hell.

She would only blind them.

“Talia...” he speaks slowly, the sacred name like honey in his mouth. Sweet and rich, clinging to his tongue long after it has past.

“You have been so good to me,” she says, the same slender hand clasping the dirty leather belt securing his pants. He wishes that he had time to change into something more respectable... something worthy. He remembers the monks in Tibet, who in anticipation of religious ceremonies would bathe in incense and dress in white garments so they would be cleanly when they approached divinity.

She removes the belt and lets it fall to the floor, the buckle clattering as it hits the ground.

He inhales sharply, and a rush of the drug hits him, flooding his senses with a chemical numbness.

The zipper is next, and she pulls it down without commentary, other then the gleam he sees in her eyes, the ghost of a smile that crosses her lips.

“...what are your intentions, Mistress Talia?” he asks, finally.

“Why, what do you think?” Talia smiles.

The pants are off. He's backed up into the wall.

She slides in the space between the waistband of his underwear and the skin, and he feels her hand tighten around his shaft.

It's overwhelming for a man who cannot remember any pleasure from before the mask. There's been so much pain that just one touch almost brings tears to his eyes.

She works him with both hands, boxers slid down into a puddle around his ankles, along with the rest of his discarded clothing. He doesn't speak, because the tinny quality of his voice through the mask would ruin it. He lets his head fall back against the wall, and once again gasps. His senses are flooded with the anesthetic, her touch, the way the sun is reflecting off her face from the dusty windows, the way her eyes shine, her whole being.

She is his purpose. Without her, there is no light.

And in the singular perfect moment, she lowers herself onto her knees in front of him.

“No,” he says. “You should not... lower yourself before me.”

She rises to face him.

“Then what would you have me do, my friend?”

He pauses a moment to think.

“...whatever you wish of me.”

She pushes her whole body into his. The wall is cold against his back. He enjoys the sensation; it cuts through the medicinal fog.

“If you put your arms under my legs... and held me up...”

She kisses his forehead, standing on her toes.

“Would you like that?”

He nods. The thought is dizzying.

“But first, I would need you to touch me... here.” She gently grasps one of his hands—how large they are compared to her own—and presses it against the cloth of her robe. She smiles. “Lower now...” She guides him down and then forces his palm against the soft yielding skin under her clothes.

It's been so long since he last felt a woman, years and years ago, in a life he can no longer remember. Nothing before the pit matters anymore. No—nothing before she rescued him matters anymore.

He has been reborn in the fire.

She slides out of her pants effortlessly, leaving her underwear on the floor with them. He can't speak.

“Right... here.” Her hand guides him again in between the folds of her robe. She's so warm.

He works his fingers against her, listening to her gasp and pant in appreciation. Nothing could please him more. And when she's had enough, she cries out his name. It sounds like music.

“ _Bane_.”

She's achingly beautiful when he slides two arms under her legs and raises her up so their eyes meet. She's against the wall now, with him bearing against her.

“You have the most wonderful eyes, my friend.”

And when he's inside of her, she drags her fingernails into his bare shoulders. He wishes he could feel the pain.

He would like nothing more than to suffer for her.

He knows this dance, though it's been an entire lifetime since he's last done so. Inside and out, every thrust punctuated by her low moans. Her skin feels so good against his own: clean and pure, every bit the goddess he's always known her to be.

The venom stuns his senses, and leaves every synapse in euphoria.

There's a crack of light that shines through the window, and it illuminates her face. Eyes that burn with passion, tender lips that he would kiss if he only could.

And when they're through, he lets her down with a gentleness that's unfamiliar to him. Her footsteps echo in the empty room.

She raises one lovely hand against his cheek, and smiles. There's a tear swimming down her face.

“You deserve more love than I could offer you.”

She is achingly, terribly beautiful.

So beautiful, that a lesser man might be blinded.


End file.
